


Keep Thee in All Thy Ways

by htebazytook



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s09e18 Meta Fiction, First Time, M/M, Romance, Season 9, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel isn't okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Thee in All Thy Ways

**Title:** Keep Thee in All Thy Ways  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** Dean/Castiel  
 **Time Frame:** during 9.18 Meta Fiction  
 **Summary:** Castiel isn't okay.

 

Castiel is down to his shirt and dress pants at 2AM, strangely rueful about the absence of his tie because he keeps going to loosen it only to find it's no longer constricting him. The shadowy motel room is stifling in every possible way, and standing in front of the little green fridge with the door open hasn't helped, and reassuring himself over and over that he's doing the right thing stops working whenever he stops doing it.

Castiel first heard the car when it had turned onto the street farther up the block, knew it exactly but even human ears would've sensed Dean's footsteps before he walked his way into Castiel's isolated evening, a beacon of every earthly temptation personified that Castiel had never gotten around to resenting. Even Sam resented his brother, at times. But Castiel could see too much of Dean's soul for that.

"Of course you don't lock the door," Dean says to himself. He laughs and shuts the door behind him. " _Of_ course . . . "

"The power of an entity capable of harming me is greater than the strength of a locked door."

Dean laughs again, meandering around the wooden edges of the room. 

"Why did you return here, Dean? Does Sam know where - ?"

Dean laughs most bitterly of all this time. "Yeah." He smears a hand across his face. "Yeah, I think he's gonna be okay with not knowing."

Castiel waits in the chilled air by the mini fridge. "Why are you here?"

Dean meets Castiel's eyes. His are so tired. "Metatron – he, uh. He really just let you go, just like that?" Edging toward Castiel now. "No strings, no nothing?"

"Yes."

" 'Cause you know . . . he _has_ double crossed you before. You'd _tell me_ , Cas, you'd _tell me_ if there was anything else to it, right?"

"It's fine."

"Cas . . . "

"I can handle myself."

"Can you, though? 'Cause when have you _ever_ done that? You're so - " Dean cuts himself off, breathes and continues more calmly: "Look, I know it was a dick move when I banished you from the bunker or whatever, and I'm sorry, okay?. But _now_ , I . . . just, promise me you won't do anything stupid."

Castiel nods, though he knows Dean knows it's an empty gesture. The space between them seems to cloud back up. "How long," Castiel asks carefully, "have you borne the Mark of Cain?"

Dean's gotten close enough that Castiel can see his eyes deaden as he speaks. "I had to do it, and I chose to do it. And nobody else needs to worry about it, you got me?"

Castiel grabs Dean's arm before he can evade him, pulls him closer and pushes his sleeve up and wishes he didn't believe what was branded into his skin, but the truth is Castiel isn't surprised that Dean would take this on.

Dean looks away and sighs, saying, "If you've got a plan B, I'm all ears," and sounding younger.

Castiel doesn't. "I'm sorry," he offers, suddenly missing his overcoat because he feels unprotected with a rumpled white shirt as his only defense against the world.

"Yeah, I know." Dean talks quietly, like he's trying to keep it secret from himself. His hand covers Castiel's where it's clutching Dean's arm, brief caress there before he lifts his afflicted arm to tilt Cas's chin up, leans down to press their mouths together.

Castiel would've flinched or shoved Dean away in the past, possibly remained passive and catalogued the act and reflected on it later, but Castiel doesn't know himself these days so he just responds. Easy and warm and human.

Castiel's grip tightens around Dean's arm while Dean pulls Castiel's body flush against his. The kiss stays gently electric. It isn't divine or sinful or anything Castiel has understood for millennia, but it is _good_ , heart-racing, deceptively simple actions belying the clamor of desires and sadnesses that should've been toxic but instead became addictive.

Castiel keeps his eyes closed against the barrage of sensation, breathing Dean's breath. "I think . . . yes, I want . . . " Metatron is certainly wrong about the power of words too because stumbling phrases could never amount to anything worth this feeling. "I _want_ ," is all Castiel can articulate with any certainty.

"Cas, we - "

Castiel at least knows that he doesn't want to talk. He kisses Dean again, needing to do it harder and make the connection permanent. Dean responds in kind, mouth borderline painful against Castiel's and he's got unwavering hands at Castiel's hips, sliding so that Castiel's shirt gets untucked. The skin of Dean's hand hot against Castiel's side, belly, chest, making Castiel gasp when Dean thumbs over his nipple.

Dizzying when Dean backs Castiel against a wall, holds him there in bleak yellow light and penetrating shadows to deepen the kiss, thrusts his hips against Castiel's and _that_ hasn't happened to him before but Castiel now hopes that it never stops. Keeps moaning into Dean's mouth and clutching at him.

Dean's heat retreats a bit, and his aura is wrong and red but Castiel still regrets that it's only partially ensnaring him now.

"Lie down on the bed," Dean says, so subsonic that Castiel shivers. Dean's hot hand sliding up Castiel's neck to get his attention. "Cas."

"Yes." Castiel tries to collect himself but only falls deeper into this dazed state of lust he had so completely failed to comprehend until very recently. "Yes."

So Castiel moves to the bed on unsteady legs, finding it difficult to think past the tighteness in his groin. Dean follows him so fast, pushing him down and hovering half on top of him, unbuttoning his shirt. Momentum slowing as Dean traces listlessly over the exposed skin of Castiel's chest.

"Are you okay?" Dean doesn't add 'with this'.

Castiel considers lying, but lies are exhausting and lead them nowhere so he only shakes his head.

Dean doesn't laugh. "Yeah, when are we?" He resituates himself over Castiel, kneeing his legs apart and settling so that they're connected absolutely everywhere. Kisses Castiel thrillingly deeply before moving on to nip and suck at his neck.

"So," Dean murmurs, and the vibration of it against Castiel's throat is delicious. "How's this comparing to your sexual healing with the reaper, so far?"

Castiel feels too blinded by the timbre of Dean's voice to listen to him. Just says, "Take your clothes of."

Dean's eyes flutter, widen gorgeously when Castiel pushes his open green shirt off his shoulders, pushes him upright and helps pull his T-shirt off too. 

Castiel has to sit up to work Dean's jeans open, wraps his hand around Dean's erection through his boxers. Castiel had never felt his own, but the suspects the heat and hardness of Dean's feels better in his hand, especially because it is accompanied by such a blissfully mindless look on his face . . . "Is this right?" Castiel asks.

Dean just groans, snags a hand in Castiel's hair and groans into his mouth too, wet velvety kiss and Castiel licks back against Dean's tongue, shudders when Dean sucks on his.

Castiel remembers April doing this to him, her small soft hands moving over hard flesh and taking Castiel by surprise. Despite Castiel knowing everything human in theory, he hadn't understood how to touch her until she'd shown him. But the way Dean clutches at him, tasting him and surging in Castiel's hand . . . that makes it easy to understand – Castiel _wants_ Dean to be this way, mentally unburdened and restless for physical pleasure.

Dean's kisses get harder and harder, forcing Castiel back until Dean has him pinned against the flimsy headboard. He works Castiel's pants open, pulls them down clumsily along with his underwear, removes his own jeans and boxers fast before straddling Castiel – so fast, too many things to want – Dean's strong hand guiding Castiel's– their erections rubbing together, the wetness leaking from them slicking Castiel's hand as he grips around them both and moves up and down.

They're losing balance, and the kisses and Dean grabbing at Castiel like he's his only anchor nudge them gradually sideways until Castiel falls and Dean catches him, keeps thrusting into Castiel's hand while Castiel gasps and keeps squeezing his fingers around them.

Dean's teeth sink into Castiel's clavicle, hot breath over hot skin and it triggers something in Castiel that makes it all too much – his leg muscles quake and his every nerve bursts with pleasure, the hard heat of Dean's erection feeling unbearably good, slick now with Castiel's ejaculate and Dean gasps, pulls back a little and goes to touch himself but Castiel bats his hand away and takes over instead, mesmerized by the expression on Dean's face, the words puffing out of his bruised mouth. Leaden eyes on Castiel when he orgasms.

The warmth of Dean's weight shifts away, making Castiel compelled to chase it. He throws heavy limbs over Dean's heaving chest to keep him there in Castiel's drab little motel room.

Dean's eyes are closed, not relaxed or peaceful or any of the things Castiel is awash in. Castiel wants to fix him in that way, always in the back of his mind feeling responsible for Dean's well-being, responsible for whatever had happened to him after being raised from Hell because it reminded Castiel that he'd lied to him, failed him, been too careless and too selfish by turns and look what had happened to Dean because of it.

Castiel pushes the thought aside, basks in Dean's closeness and scent and rumbling voice as he says, "Listen, you shouldn't worry about the whole Mark of Cain thing, okay? I'm handling it, you got enough on your plate."

"Dean," Castiel sighs. "You do not know what you've gotten yourself into."

Dean tries to brush it off with a soft kiss to Castiel's hair and a teasing, "You calling me chicken?"

_You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love._

Castiel thinks he might be calling Dean chicken, but he doubts it's something that Dean wants to hear right now.

"You know what I am," Castiel says instead.

Subtle jostling as Dean laughs. "The nerdiest angel in the garrison?"

"The nerdiest guardian angel. The title is self explanatory."

Dean laughs at that, too.

"Dean, I – mmf." It's a very effective way of stalling conversation, Dean's mouth on Castiel's again. Much simpler to understand than talking about realities and getting nowhere.

*


End file.
